XOXO, P
by TheNextFolchart
Summary: You sit in your Muggle Studies class and you scratch little notes into the surface of your table for Blaise Zabini, who sits in this chair one class period after you, and you try as hard as you possibly can to tune out the voice of Hermione bloody Granger.


**XOXO, P**

* * *

You ask yourself every bloody day why you decided to sign up for Muggle Studies.

It's not as if you're going to use it in real life. You're _magic, _after all. You're going to get a job in the _magical _world and marry a _magical _man - not just your father would disown you if you married a muggle, either - and have _magical _babies. Never in your life are you going to need to change a lightbulb or operate a washing machine; even if you somehow, Merlin forbid, forget how to do magic, that's what house elves are for.

So you sit in your Muggle Studies class counting down the seconds until the semester is over, and you scratch little notes into the surface of your table for Blaise Zabini, who sits in this chair one class period after you, and you try as hard as you possibly can to tune out the voice of Hermione bloody Granger.

". . . and then you gently set the receiver back in its cradle," Granger is saying, "and you've hung up and finished your phone call."

"Beautiful," Professor Burbage says with a smile, and you smirk as you realize her big teeth remind you of a horse. "Take ten points for Gryffindor."

Granger beams. _What a bloody shock_.

You press your quill harder into the table; you've almost finished your note to Blaise, but you're hung up on the word "sincerely." You've been dating him for a good while now, and S_incerely, Pansy _feels a bit impersonal after two months of shagging, but you've also never said _I love you_ to each other and you don't want to be the first to cross that bridge.

"I have a question, Professor," Granger says, thrusting her hand into the air. The longer you look at her, the more you think she resembles a weed: scraggly hair, scrawny physique, loud know-it-all voice that sucks up all the oxygen and kills everyone around her. "About the reading?"

"Go ahead, Miss Granger."

"She actually did the reading?" Adelaide Murton whispers from the seat next to you. "Why in the name of _Merlin_ would she do the reading?"

You shrug.

"_I _don't even do the reading," Adelaide says. "And I'm an actual wizard. You can bet that if I were a mudblood, I'd _never _do reading for classes about_ being a mudblood_."

You exhale quickly through your nose in what you hope sounds like a laugh. You've settled on a valediction, and you begin to carve away at the tabletop. _XOXO, Pansy_.

"I think the textbook got something wrong," Granger is saying. "The author writes that telephones were invented by Alexander Grahm Bell."

"As they were," Professor Burbage confirms.

"Yes, but the text makes no mention of the controversy surrounding Antonio Meucci and Elisha Gray." It sounds like Granger is speaking in tongues. "I did a bit of outside research, and Meucci definitely created the earliest model of the telephone - well, technically speaking, it was more of a talking telegraph, but it was the first step. Due to financial difficulties he was unable to renew his caveat, and - "

"Miss Granger," Professor Burbage says gently, "what have I told you about outside research?"

"That it's unnecessary for an introductory Muggle Studies course," Granger says immediately. "But if the textbook is teaching incorrect information - "

"Give it a _rest_," Adelaide says, probably louder than she means to.

You stop scratching in the middle of your _X_.

"Excuse me, Miss Murton?" Professor Burbage says.

Adelaide has the decency to look guilty.

"I just - I didn't mean to be rude," she says. You snort quietly. "I just meant that, well, all these tiny details - they don't really _matter_, do they? About who invented the telling phone?"

"It's history," Granger says. Her face is pink. "It's just as important as the Founders of Hogwarts, or the invention of the broomstick."

"I've never studied the invention of the broomstick," you volunteer.

"Nor have I," says Adelaide. "And I can fly just fine."

"Regardless of what you've studied," Granger snaps, rather rudely, in your opinion, "the fact remains that it happened. And if we refuse to learn about history, how are we ever supposed to progress? How can we create better inventions if we won't even build on the past?"

"Here we go," Adelaide mutters. You're having a lot of trouble carving an _O _into the desk.

"For example," Granger says as she tucks a chunk of bushy hair behind her ear, "Alexander Grahm Bell built on Merucci's work to invent the telephone, but Merucci was building on the work of Samuel Morse, who came up with the telegraph - and even then there was controversy about who was allowed to have credit for that invention, which sparks a really interesting debate about - "

"Outside research, Granger," you say with a smirk. The class giggles. Granger turns bright red.

"My point is," she says when the class is done tittering, "how can we hope to advance in the world if we won't build on the knowledge of those who came before us?"

"It's called _magic_," Adelaide says slowly, as if Granger is deaf in addition to being insufferable and a mudblood.

Granger whips her head around to glare at the Slytherin. "Have you ever wondered why the muggle world is _miles _ahead of your magic?" she snaps. "Have you ever wondered why wizards still write with quills, while muggles have progressed to telephones? It's because wizards are too stubborn to do a little extra research and realize that maybe the textbook is wrong. Maybe if you thought a little differently about the world, you would be able to progress past the Dark Ages."

"Enough." Professor Burbage looks mildly offended by Granger's outburst. "Five points from both your houses for arguing during class."

Adelaide looks guilty again, but Granger looks positively _horrified_.

There are three minutes left of this class. You're not going to be able to finish carving your note.

"For homework, please read Chapter Twelve: Muggle Sports and Recreation in the Early Twentieth Century." Professor Burbage waves her wand, and the assignment writes itself on the board. You don't bother to copy it down. "And please, Miss Granger, no more outside research."

"Yes, Professor," Granger says quietly.

"Good. See you all next week."

Your note ends with _XOXO, P._

* * *

You run into Blaise on your way out of the classroom. "How was Muggle Studies?" he asks, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek.

You shrug. "Same as usual. Granger read a book and then vomited the words back up."

He laughs. "Did you write a note for me on the table?"

You nod. "Didn't get to finish it, though. It only says _XOXO, P_ at the end. It took me a long time to make the _O_s."

"Should've picked a different sign-off. Maybe one with fewer _O_s."

Adelaide is waiting for you down the hallway. "Maybe," you say. "I have to go."

"Pansy." He licks his lips. "You know what word only has one _O_?"

"What?"

"Love." And he winks and skirts around you to get into the classroom. "See you, Parkinson."

"See you, Zabini," you reply reflexively, but you've gone a little breathless.

* * *

"What a rubbish class," Adelaide says. "I can't believe Granger made us lose five points!"

"Rubbish," you agree.

"I ask myself every bloody day why I signed up for Muggle Studies," she continues, but you aren't listening, because there is a word echoing over and over in your head, a word that makes you feel like a cloud and grin like a fool, a word that makes every word Granger says during Muggle Studies completely and utterly worth sitting through.

(And it's only got one _O_.)

* * *

_[One of Every Letter: X]_

_[Disney Character Competition: Gaston - write about Pansy Parkinson]_

_[Charms Class: w__rite from the POV of someone in the same class as Hermione Granger. Prompts: (word) table, (emotion) guilt, (restriction) no mention of the character "Harry Potter," (word) beautiful, (speech) "It's called _magic_."__]_


End file.
